Susan, desperate now, was only praying for oblivion.
That Lydia and Stephen might not meet—­that
she might be spared only that—­that somehow
they might escape this hideous publicity—­this
noise and blare, was all she asked. She did not
dare raise her eyes; her face burned.

“She’s hurt her foot!” said pitying
voices, as the two women went slowly down the slanting
bridge to the dock.

Down, down, down they went! And every step carried
Susan nearer to the world of her childhood, with its
rigid conventions, its distrust of herself, its timidity
of officials, and in crowded places! The influence
of the Saunders’ arrogance and pride failed her
suddenly; the memory of Stephen’s bracing belief
in the power to make anything possible forsook her.
She was only little Susan Brown, not rich and not
bold and not independent, unequal to the pressure of
circumstances.

She tried, with desperate effort, to rally her courage.
Men were waiting even now to take up the gang-plank
when she and Lydia left it; in another second it would
be too late.

“Is either of you ladies sailing?” asked
the guard at its foot.

“No, indeed!” said Lydia, cheerfully.
Susan’s eye met his miserably--but she could
not speak.

They went slowly along the pier, Susan watching Lydia’s
steps, and watching nothing else. Her face burned,
her heart pounded, her hands and feet were icy cold.
She merely wished to get away from this scene without
a disgraceful exposition of some sort, to creep somewhere
into darkness, and to die. She answered Lydia’s
cheerful comments briefly; with a dry throat.

Suddenly beside one of the steamer’s great red
stacks there leaped a plume of white steam, and the
prolonged deep blast of her whistle drowned all other
sounds.

“There she goes!” said Lydia pausing.

She turned to watch the Nippon Maru move against the
pier like a moving wall, swing free, push slowly out
into the bay. Susan did not look.

“It makes me sick,” she said, when Lydia,
astonished, noticed she was not watching.

“Why, I should think it did!” Lydia exclaimed,
for Susan’s face was ashen, and she was biting
her lips hard to keep back the deadly rush of faintness
that threatened to engulf her.

“Here, sit on these boxes, darling,” she
said. “Well, you poor little girl you!
There, that’s better. Don’t worry
about anyone watching you, just sit there and rest
as long as you feel like it! I guess you need
your lunch!”